Guide to Losing a Player in One Date
by sleepyvalentina
Summary: ...Without Resorting to Sex. In 1986, first-year med student Carlisle Cullen was not only on top of the world, but he'd also been on top of the majority of his female classmates. Can Esme Masen beat him at his own game? A FGB piece for katydid13. Part of the Art After 5 universe.
1. Step One: Know How to Identify a Player

I don't own _Twilight_. This will be a series of vignettes surrounding Carlisle and Esme, taking place roughly twenty-four years prior to the beginning of _Counterpoint._ Because it is a prequel, no prior reading of _Counterpoint_ is necessary.

Thanks to wickedcicada.

**

* * *

The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player in One Date**

**(Without Resorting to Sex)**

A Fandom Gives Back Piece for katydid13

**Step One:**

**Know How to Identify a Player**

* * *

**September, 1986**

According to campus legend, Carlisle Cullen had already fucked six women in our anatomy lab before we'd even unzipped the cadaver bags. He may have been smart and gorgeous, with a smile that could turn otherwise brilliant women into bumbling idiots, but given his reputation for never going out with the same girl twice, his continued success at luring people to his bed defied logic.

It wasn't that I was surprised his technique worked—I was surprised it worked here. The University of Pennsylvania's School of Medicine was ranked among the best in the country, and the women around me were extraordinarily intelligent. It was with an almost-academic fascination that I watched Cullen interact with my female classmates. I couldn't determine if they actually believed they could reform a player, or if they were just so in to him they didn't care.

I had no cause to interact with Cullen until the day it was determined I'd share a cadaver with him and two other male classmates. After observing a moment of silence to honor the life that once occupied the body before us, Cullen flashed me his trademark (and allegedly panty-dropping) smile.

"Ladies first," he said, offering me the privilege of making the first cut.

The second my scalpel pierced the skin, Cullen passed out cold, knocking me headfirst onto the lab table. He was suitably embarrassed when he regained consciousness, and vowed to "make it up to me." For some bizarre reason, he thought the easiest way to accomplish this would be to take me out to dinner.

Did Cullen genuinely believe all women lived and died for a chance to go out with him?

I told him to go fuck himself and resumed work, all the while wondering if he honestly thought that a single date with him would be so mind-blowing it would erase the memory of how his fainting spell caused me to get cadaver juice in my hair. No one was that good in bed.

When it was his turn to wield the scalpel, I backed away from the table so he wouldn't bring me down with him if he fainted again. In the absence of anything else to do, I assessed his work from behind. Okay, so maybe I was assessing his behind. His ass was quite the specimen; what a pity it was attached to such an asshole.

When lab was finally over, I bolted for the door. I wanted to go home, have some whiskey, and scrub until my skin was raw. Something told me there wasn't enough Flex in the world to eradicate the smell of the death from my hair. Maybe I was just imagining it. I angled my face to take a whiff and came to the sad realization that not only was the stench real, but the guy I had to thank for it was walking beside me.

I chose not to acknowledge him, hoping he'd go away.

"Are you intentionally ignoring me?" he asked.

"Of course not; that would require effort."

We continued to walk in silence until he escorted me across Walnut Street, and my curiosity got the better of me.

"Is this something you do often?"

"No," he stated emphatically. "Until this morning, I'd never passed out in my life. Wait, that's not exactly true. One time when I was sixteen, I drank three bottles of Thunderbird on a dare. I challenge anyone to consume that much alcohol and not lose consciousness. Anyway, my point is that I'm not squeamish."

"I meant follow people home from class."

He laughed, and I studied his appearance. He was tall and blond, with broad shoulders and perpetual stubble that accentuated the cleft in his chin. Like everyone else in gross anatomy, he was wearing standard-issue scrubs, except he actually looked good in them. The cheap blue fabric somehow accentuated his eyes and his package.

I no longer wondered why, despite his reputation, he had so many women wanting to play doctor with him. My prior assessment was wrong—he wasn't extremely good-looking; he was a fucking god.

The problem was that he knew it.

"Only the ones I've pushed into cadavers. Look, Esme; I just wanted to apologize to you again and let you know my invitation was genuine–"

"As were my regrets."

He smiled, and dimples formed at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, well, I don't think you meant to say no."

"Not used to being turned down, I take it?"

"You haven't turned me down; you're just going to require a bit more convincing."

I stopped walking when we were in front of my building. Though sanctuary from my would-be suitor was only a few feet away, I didn't run inside to my apartment. Despite the fact Cullen was presumptuous and mildly annoying, I still found myself enjoying his attention.

"It may seem hard for you to wrap your mind around, but there are women out there who are smart enough to see through your shit."

"What shit would that be?"

"Your desire to take me out on a date to apologize to me is nothing more than a pretense to make me number seven."

"Seven?" he repeated, clearly not understanding.

"I'm told the cadaver isn't the only female in lab whose anatomy you've studied in detail. Rumor has it, there were six who came before her. Actually, now that I think about it, whether or not they came has yet to be established. Wait! I know what you should do!" I bounced up and down in mock enthusiasm. "Why don't you ask the cadaver out on a date? She also was involved in this morning's mishap and deserves an apology just as much as I do. You won't have to feed her or get her off. I guarantee you, she won't care about your reputation or put up a fight."

He threw his head back and laughed. "What if I told you that challenges appeal to me?"

"I'd tell you that you just met your match."

"In that case, what do you have to lose? You get a meal out of it, maybe see a movie. If you're as immune to my charms as you claim to be, nothing I say or do will have any effect on you. At the end of the night, we can part ways and you won't have to have anything to do with me outside of class."

"So if I go on one date with you, you'll leave me alone?"

"Absolutely. I should warn you, though, that after a night with me, the last thing you'll want me to do to you is leave you alone."

Before I could formulate an appropriately biting response, the front door of my building opened.

"God, Esme." My younger sister appeared on the front stoop. "I thought the whole point of us getting a place together was so we wouldn't have to sneak around to get laid. You can invite him inside, you know." She didn't even try to hide the fact she was sizing up Cullen. "Not bad for the second week of class." She extended her hand to him. "I'm Esme's sister, Maggie."

His eyes darted from Maggie to me as he shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Maggie. I'm Carlisle, and you must be twins."

Maggie and I heard this all the time—we had the same red hair and green eyes, and we were both tall, thin and covered in freckles. If not for Maggie's unfortunate spiral perm and penchant for dressing like Madonna, it would be nearly impossible for someone who didn't know us to tell us apart.

"Just in the Irish sense," she explained.

"You mean you're of Irish descent? What does that have to do with being twins?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "We're Irish twins."

He looked completely lost. "I thought we already established your ancestry."

Maggie looked at him as if he had two heads before turning to me and whispering, "He's not the smartest guy in scrubs you've ever brought home, but then again, if his mouth is otherwise occupied, there's no need to talk to him." She smiled at Cullen as if he were the village idiot. "It was nice meeting you, Carlisle. See you around."

After Maggie hurried off, Cullen turned to me, smiling.

"How about I pick you up on Friday at six?"

"I haven't said yes."

"No," he conceded, "but you're going to."

"What gives you that idea? I mean, I kind of hate you."

"Really? Then why didn't you go inside twenty minutes ago?"

Bastard.

"I'm going inside now."

I could hear him laughing even after I slammed the door in his face. I let him have his moment, knowing full well that on Friday night, the last laugh would belong to me.


	2. Step Two: Have a Fight Song

I don't own _Twilight_. Blondie owns "One Way or Another."

**

* * *

The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player in One Date**

**(Without Resorting to Sex)**

Step Two:

Have a Fight Song

* * *

Over the past few years, Maggie and I had perfected our getting-dressed-to-go-out ritual. We listened to records, curled our hair, and tried on various outfits until we settled on just the right one. My sister claimed it was about bonding, but I knew better. In reality, she didn't trust me not to go out in an over-sized T-shirt, slouch socks, and stirrup pants. She insisted no guy would ever want to fuck me if I looked like I had the body of a twelve-year-old boy. The obvious exception was the night of my date with Cullen, when not getting laid was the point.

"I don't see what the big deal is. Just dress how you would without my influence." Maggie plunked a record onto the turntable before carefully placing the needle into a groove half an inch from the record's edge. She smiled diabolically. "Here's a little inspiration for you."

As Debbie Harry's voice came through the speaker, I looked down at my clothing. "Can't I just wear this?"

"No."

"Why not?" I pointed to my enormous _Frankie Says Relax_ top. "This isn't at all sexy."

"No, but it will remind him of coming." She went to my dresser and pulled out my _Choose Life_ shirt. "Wear this. It screams devoutly Catholic. Unless you want to lie and tell him you have a raging case of herpes–"

"I have to see this guy every day in lab, you know."

"Then having a known pro-life stance is the best protection against below-the-belt action out there."

"This shirt isn't about abortion, and you know it."

"Well, yeah, but do you really think Cullen will? I mean, he didn't even know what Irish twins were."

"Good point."

"I think this is a winning ensemble. The _Choose Life_ shirt, stirrup pants, slouch socks, and bobos. It screams loser, but that's kind of the point. Oh!" She ran over to the record player and turned it up. "Sing with me. 'One way or another, I'm gonna lose ya. I'm gonna trick ya, trick ya, trick ya, trick ya!'" She threw her arms over her head and jumped around the room as she sang. "This should be your fight song, Esme. Why aren't you dancing with me?"

She pulled me to my feet, unwilling to take no for an answer. We danced around our tiny living room, stopping only when the record began to skip. Maggie righted the needle as I changed into what was possibly the most hideous outfit I owned.

"Do you think Cullen has a fight song?" she asked. "I've always wondered about guys like that—if they just naturally believe they're that hot, or if they have to psych themselves up for it the way we do."

"I think it varies. I'm sure some guys whore it up in an attempt to compensate for insecurities, but just as many are legitimate assholes." I tied my shoelaces and stood up. "How do I look?"

"Like you're on your way to a sixth-grade birthday party at the local roller rink," she said, laughing. "As much as I'd love to see the look on Cullen's face when he sees you, I need to get going."

As a piano major at the Curtis Institute, Maggie spent most evenings either attending concerts or performing in them.

"I expect a full report when I get home." She turned off the record player, grabbed her bag, and left.

I pulled my hair back and grabbed the Aqua Net, only to discover the can was empty.

Shit.

Knowing Maggie would have emergency hairspray in her bag, I opened the door and yelled after her.

"Get in here; I need you."

"Gladly. But let the record show I had every intention of buying you dinner first."

I looked up and saw Cullen leaning against the wall in the hallway. Though his trademark cocky smile sent my girly parts a flutter, I was determined not to think of his cock, instead focusing on sizing up the enemy.

There was something different about his appearance, and it went beyond the fact he'd traded in his scrubs for a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt. Upon careful inspection, I determined it definitely wasn't his clothes; it was his face.

Halle-fucking-lujah!

He shaved.

Did he not realize the stubble was a huge part of his appeal? My mission just got exponentially easier.

* * *

**_Current Score:_**

**_Masen 1; Cullen 0_**

**_

* * *

  
_**

"I thought you were Maggie." I tried not to betray my new-found confidence by smiling.

"And aren't you glad I'm not? I mean, if we were siblings, I'm fairly sure what you just asked me to do to you would be illegal."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "The words 'get in here' are _always _an invitation for sex."

"In my experience, they usually are."

"You're disgusting. Let my willingness to go out with you serve as a testament to exactly how low I'll stoop to get you to leave me alone."

He wrinkled his forehead in apparent confusion. "If that's what you're into, you don't have to stoop. Some girls like to bend at the waist."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to hit him or laugh my ass off. I settled for laying down the law.

"Just so we're clear, I have no intention of bending, stooping, or even spreading, for that matter. Your assumption otherwise makes me feel compelled to remind you of our agreement—in exchange for my going out with you tonight, you're going to stop harassing me in class."

"Unless you want me to harass you," he added.

"I won't."

"We'll see. Our reservation is in fifteen minutes. Why don't I stay out here while you get changed?"

"That won't be necessary; I'm ready to go now." I smiled sweetly. "Just let me grab my bag."

If Cullen found my choice of attire appalling, he didn't let on. Ultimately, his opinion didn't matter. When we walked into the restaurant, I was appalled enough for both of us.

It wasn't that I was necessarily under-dressed, it was that I was completely out of my league. Casual for me typically consisted of scrubs; my version of casual chic involved scrubs that didn't smell like death. After surveying the people around me, I made a mental note to visit my mom at Wanamaker's and use her discount to buy a new outfit before going out with Cullen again.

Wait. What the fuck was I thinking? I hated Cullen, and the whole point of having dinner with him tonight was so he'd stop bothering me. Why was the mere sight of him making me hot and bothered?

The maître d' led us to our table, at which point Cullen pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit down. He gently pushed my seat toward the table before sitting opposite me. I didn't start to flip out until he handed me a menu.

"This restaurant is slightly out of my budget."

The truth was that a single entree cost more than Maggie and I had budgeted to feed both of us for an entire week.

"I invited you, therefore I fully intend to pick up the tab. I thought I explained this would be my treat."

Our waiter appeared to take our drink order and tell us about their additions to the menu before asking if we had any questions.

"Yes. Can we have separate checks?" Paying was going to totally fuck me, but I'd be damned if he confused me for one of his whores.

The waiter looked to Cullen, who nodded assent to bill us separately. Then he ordered a bottle of wine.

"Is this your standard operating procedure?" I asked after the waiter left. "Take a girl out for a pricey meal, get her liquored up, and then move in for the kill?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Drop the innocent act, Cullen. We all know that if each day we had anatomy lab was an at bat, and every time you got laid counted as a hit, your current batting average would be .897. Considering the median IQ of the women in our class, you've got to be working it something fierce. I'd like to know how you do it."

".897, huh?"

"Aren't you going to deny it?"

"Why should I? I mean, you've already got me all figured out."

"More or less," I admitted. "What I don't understand why you're here with me, when I'm obviously onto you."

"Has the thought occurred to you that I didn't ask you out so I could seduce you?"

I snorted. "No."

"Well, in that case, let me make my intentions clear. I like you, Esme."

"You don't even know me."

"I _want_ to know you."

"Yeah, in the biblical sense."

"In every sense."

He seemed earnest enough that I almost believed him. I no longer wondered how his game worked. He was gorgeous and faked sincerity exceedingly well. Outside of the rumors, I still knew nothing about him. What was it about enigmas that were so god-damned sexy?

_

* * *

  
_**_Current Score:_**

**_Masen 1; Cullen 1_**

**_

* * *

  
_**

As the waiter poured our wine, I decided that if I got Cullen to talk about himself, he'd be far less intriguing. His appeal would diminish exponentially.

"Where did you go to undergrad?" I asked.

"Princeton. You?"

"Penn."

He smiled. "So you would be able to show me around my new neighborhood."

"That depends on where you live. I only moved to University City this year. Outside of my block and the campus itself, I don't know the area all that well."

"I live upstairs from you."

I choked on my ice water.

"Don't look so surprised. How else would I have gotten to your apartment door unless I had my own key to the building?"

The fact that he was my neighbor made no sense whatsoever. Everything about him—his manners, his alma mater, his choice of restaurant—screamed rich boy, yet he was living in the ghetto? Did I have that aspect of him wrong? Furthermore, if he was rolling pennies to put himself through med school like I was, what the hell was he doing bringing random girls to restaurants like this?

My mother always said you could always tell a man's class by his hands. If his skin was softer than yours, it was safe to assume he'd never done an honest day's work in his life.

"Give me your hand," I said.

Cullen looked at me like I was insane, but reached across the table anyway. His calloused palm was delightfully rough. I raised my eyes to meet his, still unable to figure out what his deal was. The only theory I could come up with was that he'd picked up his affectations at Princeton, came from a background similar to mine, and brought me to restaurant like this because he really did like me.

"I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about you," he said, "but I'm positive I've never met anyone like you. If you believe the rhetoric you spout about _me_, then you know I'm not hard up for female attention. I swear this isn't about sex." He paused and let out a small laugh. "Though I will admit to having a weakness for redheads."

I rolled my eyes. "How charming."

"I just want to get to know you."

Against my better judgment, I found myself wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

We sat in silence as I thought about his words. I'd forgotten I was holding his hand until he started rubbing the palm of my hand with his fingertips. The gentle rhythm felt so amazing that I questioned what the harm in fucking him would be. Though I'd only had sex within the confines of committed relationships, my class schedule made it doubtful I'd be in one of those any time soon. I'd have to fulfill my physical needs somehow, and despite my mother's insistence that nice girls didn't do that, it was 1986. Nice girls _did_, and love had nothing to do with it.

I couldn't be seriously thinking about popping my casual-sex cherry with Cullen. He was probably a carrier for every STD known to man. I studied his face as I tried to silence my inner Tina Turner. Even without the stubble, resiting him was going to be harder than I thought.

When the waiter appeared to take our food order, Cullen pulled his hand away from mine. Though the loss of contact disappointed me, it was nothing compared to how I felt when he made no further attempt to touch me for the rest of evening. He walked me to my door and waited as I fumbled with my keys. I fully expected him to follow me inside my apartment, but he didn't.

Instead he lingered behind, leaning against the door frame. When he shook his head slightly, I knew it was useless; my face had betrayed what I wanted.

_Him. _

I wanted him.

"Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Esme. As was previously agreed, I'll leave you alone now."

"Is that what you want?" I asked.

"No, but I gave you my word."

Part of me thought there was no way in hell he was really that honorable, and this was nothing more than his ego needing me to say the words. The rest of me didn't care as long as I got to see him again.

"I'm willing to modify our agreement to include dinner tomorrow as well."

"Only if you'll let me pay."

"That's not something I typically do, but I'll make an exception if we go somewhere cheap."

"Great!" He seemed bizarrely enthusiastic. "I'll pick you up at six. Goodnight."

He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.

* * *

_**Final Score for the Night:**_

_**Cullen 2; Masen 1**_

**

* * *

  
**

Thankfully, Maggie came home a few minutes later. After providing her with a summary of my date with Cullen, I asked her how in a few hours I could go from wanting him to leave me alone to feeling disappointed that he didn't try anything.

She thought for a moment before her eyes widened with realization.

"It's the cobwebs on your poontang," she explained. "They're calling the shots."

"Thanks, Mag. That's helpful."

"I'm serious. How long has it been since you've had sex? A year? We went about this all wrong. Who cares if you end up being number seven? Fucking him is the obvious answer. Your cock drought will end, and he'll lose interest. Everyone wins. Oh my god!" She jumped to her feet and pulled me to her closet. "Dressing you for tomorrow night is going to be so much fun. I think you should wear my black bustier."

As Maggie rattled on about possible clothing choices, I wondered if I was even capable of the casual sex thing. When I tried to imagine how his calloused fingers would feel on my skin, the ensuing tingle between my legs gave me my answer.

If Cullen was the other party involved, I was capable of just about anything.


	3. Step Three: Know When to Modify the Plan

I don't own _Twilight_.

Thanks to wickedcicada.

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player in Two Dates**

**(By Resorting to Sex)**

**Step Three:**

**Know When to Modify the Plan  
**

* * *

"Don't you think you're taking this a little too far?" I asked Maggie as I studied my reflection in the mirror.

She snorted. "You're trying to use a guy for sex to get him out of your system, and you think _I'm_ going to extremes?"

I ignored her attempt to justify the get-up in which she'd dressed me. "I mean, the 'Get Esme Laid Mix Tape' was one thing—that was kind of funny."

"It was fucking hilarious, and you know it."

"Maybe. But..." I gestured to my breasts which seemed as if they would tumble out of the borrowed bustier if I so much as sneezed. "I don't think I can go out in public like this."

Maggie looked at me as if I were insane. "I do it all the time."

"I know, and that's kind of the problem. I'm not sure I want to him to think I'm a sure thing."

She giggled. "Except you kind of _are_ a sure thing..."

A knock on the door prevented Maggie from elaborating.

"Shit. He's here, and I'm not even dressed yet. Can you let him in and keep him occupied for a few minutes?"

Maggie rolled her eyes as she left my room. I closed the door behind her and turned to my closet. There had to be a better alternative then going out looking like one of the hookers on Admiral Wilson Boulevard. I went for my old standby—a black sheath dress of unknown vintage I'd bought at a thrift store on South Street. I would probably be overdressed, but after what I wore last night, it was probably just as well. Though I wasn't sure why I cared, I didn't want Cullen to think I had no taste whatsoever. Plus, the dress was empowering. If the plan was to fuck him out of my system, I needed a dress that made me feel like I could call the shots.

I replaced Maggie's bustier with a black bra and listened to what was being said in the next room. The worst thing about living in such a cheap apartment was that the walls were so thin that there was no such thing as a private conversation. Tonight, it was also the best thing.

"Hello, Carlisle." Maggie's voice was disgustingly sweet. "Wow, you brought flowers."

What the hell? How cliché could he get?

"Pulling out all the stops, huh? Esme will be ready in just a few minutes. You're welcome to have a seat while you wait for her, but unfortunately I'll be unable to entertain you while you wait. I'm already late for a concert. See you around."

Shit. With Maggie gone, there was no one around to help me with my zipper—well, no one except Cullen. Considering the entire point of this evening was to fuck him so I could forget him, I decided to seize the opportunity. My inner bad girl cheered as I stepped into my dress; I'd just have to ask Cullen to help me with it. I straightened my shoulders and fluffed my hair, before walking out of my room completely unzipped. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw Cullen leaning against the kitchen counter in jeans and a white button-down shirt holding a bouquet of stargazer lilies. He wasn't a med student; he was a motherfucking Gap ad.

He straightened his posture and offered me the lilies. "A somewhat unorthodox choice, I know, but I thought of you when I saw them."

Stargazer lilies had been favorite flowers ever since I was little, largely because they were freckled like me. Cullen showing up with them had to be nothing more than a coincidence.

"May I ask why?"

"Why did I bring you flowers?"

"I know why you brought me flowers. I'm guessing it's part of your standard operating bullshit. I meant why did you think of me when you saw these?"

Shrugging, he flashed me his trademark smile. "They're unconventionally beautiful."

It took every ounce of restraint I had not to laugh in his face; could his lines get any more obvious? Despite the fact I was onto his game, my mother raised me better than to be rude when presented with a gift.

"It was very thoughtful of you." I took the flowers out of his hands and put them in a plastic pitcher filled with water, before turning back to him. "I'm ready when you are."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"My shoes are by the door," I said, assuming he was referring to my bare feet.

"Turn around, Esme."

His voice was commandingly sexy, and though I wasn't sure if I should trust him behind me, I did as he asked. Seconds later, I felt my dress tighten across my chest as he dragged the zipper pull slowly up my back. He stopped when he reached my bra strap, gathering my hair into his hands and laying it against my shoulder.

"Wouldn't want it to get caught in the zipper," he explained, his breath hot against my neck.

As he closed my dress, his hands never lingered any longer than was necessary. I wasn't sure if I was more surprised by the fact he hadn't tried to cop a feel or my ensuing disappointment.

When I turned to face him, I expected him to look smug that he'd managed to make me forget my dress was unzipped. Instead, he appeared almost confused.

"What?" I asked. "Never help a girl get into her dress before?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I meant, no, that wasn't what I was thinking."

"Are you going to tell me what you were thinking?"

"No," he said, smiling.

"It's just as well." I walked to the door and stepped into my shoes. "It would probably only lower my opinion of you."

He laughed. "Is that even possible?"

"Probably not," I lied.

In actuality, it was possible—now. Twenty-four hours ago was a different matter entirely. Of course, I wasn't about to let him know that my passionate hatred of him had begun to wane. I'd then lose what little power I had over him, and I couldn't live with that. The only way I was okay with being number seven would be if I beat him at his own game. Specifically, if I threw his ass out before he even had a chance to take off his rubber.

He followed me out into the hallway, staying at my side as I locked my apartment. When I turned to go down the steps, he grabbed my hand and held me in place.

"We're not going that way."

There was only one way out of the building; the steps on the other side of the hallway only led the fifth floor...and to his apartment. That sneaky motherfucker.

I pulled my hand out of his. "Why did you bother zipping my dress if you were only going to try to get me out of it four minutes later?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I live here, too. I know we can't get out of the building that way. We can, however, get upstairs to your place."

He burst into laughter. "Because despite the fact I just had you alone and partially disrobed—nice panties, by the way—I'd bring you to my apartment to seduce you."

I was too fascinated by his laughter to speak. The sound seemed to come from deep in his chest. Full and real, it was the laugh of someone who unashamedly loved life and knew how to live. Had it not come at my expense, it would have been beautiful.

I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the wall, staring at him. He must have read my body language as annoyance, because with what appeared to be great effort, he stopped laughing.

"Come with me. You'll like this; I promise." He extended his hand, and against my better judgment, I took it. He led me past his apartment and through the door that led to the roof, where he'd laid out a picnic blanket and a cooler. "I may have interpreted the phrase 'out to dinner' somewhat loosely, but we are technically outside. Have a seat."

I sat on the blanket as gracefully as I could manage in my narrow skirt. He poured each of us a glass of wine before retrieving a cheese board from the cooler and placing it in front me.

"I have no idea what you like, so I got a little of everything," he said, arranging various meats and cheeses on the board.

"Where did you get all this? I mean, the selection here goes way beyond what they sell at the corner grocery."

"The Italian Market. Have you ever been there?"

I nodded dumbly.

"I'd never been to South Philly before, but one of the guys I live with insisted it was worth the hike." He spread one of the softer cheeses onto a piece of crusty bread before offering it to me. "You'll have to let me know if he was right."

When I reached for the bread, he pulled his hand away.

"I never would have pegged you for a tease, Cullen."

"I'm not."

When he raised the slice of bread to my mouth, I realized he wanted to feed me. I ate out of his hand, but called him on it the second I swallowed.

"What was your major at Princeton? The art of seduction?"

He laughed. "You're not that far off. It was art history."

"And you got accepted into med school with that?"

"I took all the recommended biology coursework. Until my junior year, I still wasn't sure which discipline I wanted to pursue."

"Medicine or art history? That's sort of a strange combination."

"They're more linked than you would think. My senior thesis was on the role of the artist in the early study of anatomy."

I sipped my wine and tried not to stare at his lips.

"If anything, I think it made my med school application stand out," he continued. "I mean, just about everyone applying to med school majors in a hard science."

Like me.

I wondered if he realized he'd just implied I was common.

"I majored in biology," I muttered.

"There you go. Have you always wanted to be a doctor?"

"More or less. I mean, I briefly toyed with the idea of becoming a concert pianist. Then I realized I'd never have a pot to piss in because I hate to perform."

"A concertless pianist?" he asked, clearly amused.

"Don't make fun of me. I knew it wouldn't pan out, so I decided to pursue medicine. Besides, to be successful in music you have to be the best of the best, and I'm not even the best musician in my immediate family. Maggie is a piano major at Curtis; she puts me to shame."

"Is she your only sibling?"

"Yep. We've done everything together for as long as I can remember. I was lucky; I got to grow up under the same roof as my best friend. What about you? Do you have any siblings?"

"I have an eighteen-year-old brother, but we're not very close."

He continued to feed me as we had the standard getting-to-know each other conversation. He was polite and respectful, and I wondered at what point it would turn into the standard getting-to-blow each other conversation. Meanwhile, his fingers against my lips coupled with the effects of the wine created a strange sensation that I was certain would remain at the forefront of my mind until I fucked him out of my system. The problem was that I was enjoying his company so much, my wham-bam-thank-you-man idea was quickly losing merit.

I refused to allow myself to deviate from the plan—regardless of the way he made me feel. After all, he was just acting a part, and I was determined to act mine. I inched more closely to him on the blanket, pretending I wasn't aware of the way my skirt bunched up around the middle of my thighs.

As predicted, Cullen's eyes went right to my newly exposed skin. When he realized I knew he was staring, he picked up a slice of cheese, pretending that had been the focus of his gaze. He raised it to my lips, and after I nibbled, I took his thumb and forefinger into my mouth. He let out a quiet gasp when without taking my eyes off his, I began to suck.

"You're not making this easy for me," he said.

I took his fingers from my mouth and put my arms around his neck.

"Oh, I think I'm making it very easy for you."

I pressed my body against his and kissed him. Though he wrapped his arms around me tightly, he kept his mouth closed. Maybe Cullen wasn't into foreplay. Though disappointing, it wasn't necessarily a deal breaker. After all, the entire point was to get him out of my system—him being bad in bed could only help that. Besides, it wasn't as if I'd never been with a guy who was bad in bed. I wasn't altogether sure I'd ever been with a guy who was good in bed. I did know that I'd never find out which category Cullen fell into as long as we remained on the roof of my apartment building.

"We should go inside. I'm getting a little chilly," I lied. I may have been shivering, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with the cool evening breeze.

"Okay. Just give me a minute to pack up." He rose to his feet and offered me his hand. After helping me up, he put the leftover food in the cooler and tucked the blanket under his arm. A few minutes later, we were outside of my apartment. He lingered in the hallway after I unlocked the door.

I pointed to the back of my dress. "If I needed help getting into it, it's safe to assume I'd also need help getting out of it."

He followed me inside, putting the cooler and blanket down right by the door. I pulled my hair up and turned my back to him.

"Do you know what you need?" he asked.

I knew exactly what I needed—a hot beef injection pronto—but I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him that.

He leaned in closely and dragged his fingertips across the front of my neck. "Pearls."

"Pearls?" I asked in disbelief. Here I was expecting him to tell me I needed a good fuck. Then again, he could just be saying he wanted to jizz on my neck.

"You know, the kind that stops here." He touched the hollow of my throat. "They're classic, like your dress."

"While you're criticizing my lack of jewelry, are there any other modifications you'd make to my attire?"

He rubbed my shoulders as he spoke. "Do you honestly want to know?"

"Yes."

"I'd love to see you in heels."

"I don't wear heels."

"Any particular reason why?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm five-foot-ten."

"I _have_ noticed. What's your point?"

"I tower over most men as it is. In my experience, guys hate it."

"Maybe the insecure ones. Personally, I love it."

"You would. For the record, your interest in my accessories is more than a little weird. If I didn't know for a fact you've fucked six of the girls in our class, I'd think you were gay."

"You know this for a fact?"

"Are you denying it?"

He slowly lowered the zipper of my dress, before dragging his calloused fingers up the bare skin of my back. When he reached my neck, he pushed the strap of my dress off my shoulder, replacing it with his lips. His other hand rested on my hip, holding me in place as he kissed a path to my ear.

"You were saying?" he whispered.

As if I could remember what I asked him. At that moment, I doubted I knew my own name.

"I have no idea," I admitted.

He turned me to face him and pressed his mouth against mine. His hands found my hair as his tongue entered my mouth. It was just a kiss—he wasn't even touching me below the neck—but I felt it everywhere from my nipples to the soles of my feet. I didn't know how to describe the sensation, only that I never wanted it to end. Instinctively, I put my hands on his ass and pulled him against me. My hips encountered his erection for all of a second before he pulled away.

"I'm_ trying_ to be a gentleman."

"And I'm trying to seduce you." I pulled his shirt out of his jeans and started unbuttoning it. "It's a lot of unnecessary effort, don't you think? I mean, if we stopped trying to be something we're not, we both could get what we want."

I opened his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders and surveyed his chest. I doubted I'd ever seen a more perfect male specimen. My fingers followed the trail of golden hair to where it disappeared into his jeans. Unwilling to wait any longer, I went to work on his belt buckle.

"What is it that you think I want?" he asked.

I opened his fly and stuck my hand inside his jeans, stroking his sizable hard-on through his boxers.

"This," I said, giving it a squeeze. "In me."

He closed his eyes and moaned.

"Come on." Keeping my hand on his cock, I led him to my room. Once we were in front of the bed, I let go of him just long enough to step out of my dress, at which point he tucked himself back in his jeans and closed his fly.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Esme, do you even like me?"

I saw no need to lie. "Not particularly. At least, I don't _think_ I do. You don't have to worry about me getting all clingy, if that's your concern. I'm not trying to make this a regular thing. For reasons I don't entirely understand myself, the idea of having angry hate sex with you appeals to me. You have to admit, it's win/win. Twenty minutes from now, you can count me among your conquests and begin planning number eight. Meanwhile, I'll have gotten over my bizarre fascination with you."

He looked appalled. "Twenty minutes?"

"Well, twenty if I'm being generous. Realistically, it would probably be closer to ten."

"Do you actually think that little of me?" He seemed more surprised than offended.

"Based on my experience–"

"No, I meant do you think that's all I want?"

"Isn't it?"

He shook his head and cupped my face in his hands. "I want _you_."

"You can have me."

"I mean, I want all of you. I want to know you, to understand you. And when the time comes, I want to make love to you. But tonight, I'd just like to talk to you until you can no longer keep your eyes open then hold you while you sleep."

He was a decent conversationalist, and he wasn't bad to look at. It sure as hell beat sleeping alone.

"On one condition," I said.

"Name it."

"Your shirt stays off."

He rolled his eyes. "And you accuse _me_ of objectifying the opposite sex."

"It's non-negotiable, Cullen."

"Fine."

I went into the bathroom to change into a T-shirt to sleep in. When I came back to my room, he was in bed waiting for me. I lay down beside him, and he pulled me into his arms.

"Tell me about your family," I said, resting my face against his chest.

He tensed beneath me. "There's not much to tell. I had a bit of a falling out with my father a few months ago, and we're not on speaking terms at the moment."

"Then tell me about Princeton."

"What would you like to know?"

"Your craziest antics, I guess. I lived at home all four years of undergrad; college stories still amuse me."

In the end, he got exactly what he wanted—we talked until I could no longer keep my eyes open, then he held me while I slept.


	4. Step Four: Remember He Is Not Special

I don't own Twilight.

thanks to linsadair and ejsantry for their input.

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player in Two Dates and One Morning After**

**(While Trying Not to Implode From Sexual Frustration)**

A Fandom Gives Back Piece for katydid13

**Step Four:**

**Remember That While His Dick May Be Something Special,**

**He is Not**

* * *

When I woke up, he was still holding me. His hand was in my hair and his lips against my cheek, but the steady rhythm of his breathing seemed to indicate he was still sleeping. As carefully as I could manage, I extricated myself from his arms. I had no idea what to do about him, so I decided to start with smaller problems—like the fact I had bad breath and needed to pee. Maybe after I caffeinated, I'd be able to work my way up to the six-foot-tall problem stretched out across my bed. Once I finished in the bathroom, I followed the scent of freshly brewed goodness to the kitchen, hoping Maggie had already left for work.

She hadn't.

"You look surprisingly ornery for the morning after a hot date."

I ignored her and got myself some coffee. Then I remembered that there _is_ no ignoring Maggie.

"How was it?" she asked. "No wait! Don't tell me; I want to guess. I bet he was really good—and huge. So how big was it? There's something about Cullen that screams 'I could be in porno.' Then again, you're probably not a good judge of this. I mean, any guy would seem well-endowed after that needle dick you used to date. Oh my god! That must be why you look so miserable. Cullen is huge, and you're sore. I mean, you'd _have_ to be sore. You've had no sex at all for over a year, and before that you were having sex with shaftless wonder. You must feel like you lost your virginity all over again. There's a hot water bottle under the sink; you should put it on your poon."

I couldn't follow any of what she was saying, only that she was doing so far too loudly.

"Would you keep your voice down?"

"What are you, hungover? Please tell me after all that you weren't so drunk last night that you don't remember fucking him. Because that would be the ultimate in bad luck—even for you."

"Shut up, Maggie," I whispered in a tone meant to let her know I meant business.

She clapped her hand over her mouth in realization. "Oh my god! He's still here, isn't he?"

Before I could confirm his presence, my bedroom door swung open and out strode Cullen, all bed hair and and chest muscles. If that wasn't enough, the stubble was back. After his uncharacteristic display of virtue the previous evening, it was downright cruel for him to look as good as he did.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the fact my cheeks were more than likely the color of my hair. It was possible he didn't hear her. God couldn't hate me that much. Even if Cullen had overheard, there's no way he'd acknowledge doing so with Maggie in the room—he wasn't _that_ much of an ass. Then I'd have until tomorrow morning to either make up a cover story or throw myself off the Walt Whitman Bridge. It could work, provided I could figure out a way to get him the hell out of my apartment.

"Good morning, ladies." He turned to Maggie. "I want to apologize for my lack of attire; it wasn't up to me." He shrugged. "Your sister drives a hard bargain."

Cullen squeezed past me, picked a mug out of the strainer beside the sink, and helped himself to some coffee.

Maggie's eyes went straight to his ass. "Apparently, not hard enough."

"Huh?" he said.

"I would have insisted on full nudity."

Laughing, he opened the fridge and retrieved the milk, pouring some into his coffee before putting it away. We stood there dumbfounded as he picked a teaspoon out of the strainer and stirred. When finished, he brought the spoon to his lips, licked it clean, and then placed it in the dishpan in the sink. The way he was acting, you'd think he lived here.

Holy sense of entitlement, Batman.

"Well, as much as I'd like to stick around and enjoy the scenery, I'm going to be late for work." Maggie put her empty cup in the sink and picked up her backpack. "Catch you later."

"Nice seeing you again, Maggie."

She waved as she pulled the door closed behind her, and for a moment, I hated her almost as much as I hated him.

"Make yourself at home, Cullen." I was certain my voice conveyed the appropriate amount of sarcasm.

"Don't mind if I do." He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his one of his ankles in front of the other.

Even his feet were attractive.

After he finished his coffee, he poured himself another cup and assumed his previous stance. He looked comfortable—maybe even relaxed—and he gave no indication he had any intention of leaving in the foreseeable future.

When I did the exaggerated throat-clearing thing, he gave me a smile which might have been genuine. Regardless, I felt as if he was taunting me. I needed to reclaim some power before lab tomorrow.

"My previous statement was meant to be derisive."

"Huh?" He was momentarily confused, then nodded in apparent understanding. "Oh. You'll have to forgive me; I'm somewhat slow in the morning."

"Great."

I folded my arms and waited for him to get his stuff together and get out of my apartment.

Except he didn't—he just stood there and drank his coffee, seemingly impervious to my glare. I ran a hand through my hair as I let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you be on your way now?"

"Esme."

I recognized his tone all too well. It was remarkably similar to the one I used on Maggie when she was being ridiculous. Coming from him, it was infuriating.

"I know what's going on here," he continued, "and it's okay."

"Is it?"

If that was the case, what the hell was he still doing here?

"Yes," he said, nodding. "It's not your fault your ex-boyfriend had no shaft."

My fists clenched at my side, and it took everything I had not to pummel him.

"As if you're any better!"

"Well, I haven't exactly sized up the competition, but you _did_ lead me to your bedroom with your hand around my cock. If that wasn't enthusiasm, I don't what it was. Unless..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Go ahead and say it. This morning couldn't possibly get any worse."

He straightened his posture and his demeanor became almost gentle.

"Sexual frustration is a normal byproduct of celibacy. Given the amount of time you've been abstaining, your reaction was perfectly natural."

"I'm not sure which is more mortifying," I muttered to myself. "The fact you overheard Maggie, or that you're using having done so as an opportunity to practice your bedside manner."

"You were more than willing for me to practice my bedside manner on you last night."

"Would you please leave?"

"Why?"

"Because you turned me down! You—quite possibly the least discriminating man on the planet—didn't want me! And I'm supposed to stand here and have coffee with you and pretend your refusal to have no-strings-attached sex with me didn't damage my ego? That I'm not upset you overheard details about my personal life which were not meant for your ears, then used them to mock me? Do you have any idea how shitty I feel about myself right now?"

I turned away from him and bent over the counter, resting on my elbows so he was gone from even my peripheral vision. I didn't understand any of it—why I reacted to him the way I did or why he wouldn't just cooperate so I could learn about anatomy in lab rather than obsessing over his. Most of all, I didn't understand why my eyes were filling with tears.

There was a rustling behind me, followed by the creak of my bedroom door. He was finally leaving. I only had to retain my composure for a few more minutes and then I could let it all out. I could do it. I wouldn't let him see me cry. After I heard the front door open and close, I let my body go slack against the counter for a moment, willing the morning's tension to leave me, and some of it actually did.

Then I heard his voice, and it all came back.

"I can't stand the thought of you being upset. I wish I could make you understand, but I don't think I can."

"Understand what?"

"What it's like to have everything handed to you. For as long as I can remember, just about everyone has kissed my ass—except you. You've been rude bordering on downright hostile since the moment we met, and maybe there's something wrong with me, but I_ like_ it. Not the actual insults you hurl at me—those are fairly obnoxious—but your biting wit, your sarcasm, your honesty. It's all so refreshing because I know it's real. I don't have to question your motivations—any compliment you give me or time you spend with me—it's because you want to. And I _want_ you to want to."

I threw my palms up, groaning. "Then why did you turn me down last night?"

"Because I'm falling in love with you."

Yeah, right. I had no idea what his game was, but I was done playing it.

"Fuck off."

"I fully expected you to react this way," he said, laughing. "I'll go back to my apartment now, but you're far from rid of me." He opened the door then turned back to me. "Just because I'm enjoying the challenge, doesn't mean I don't intend to win."

"Win what?"

"You." He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.


	5. Step Five: Beat Him at His Own Game

I don't own _Twilight._

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**And One Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Lab**

**(While Trying Not to Implode from Sexual Frustration or Commit Murder)**

**Step Five:**

**Beat Him at His Own Game**

* * *

I spent the rest of the day Sunday preparing for lab by not studying, mostly trying to determine if Cullen was the kind of guy who would use what he overheard to humiliate me. Every possible scenario hinged on a single variable—whether or not he was sincere when he told me he was falling in love with me. I knew I needed to get a read on a what was going on in his head, but there was no way I was going upstairs to talk to him—even if I_ did _have the perfect excuse for doing so. Deciding I had no other option, I waited until Maggie got home from work then called in a favor. After the way she ran her mouth off that morning, she more than owed me a reconnaissance mission. I had the perfect ruse—she just had to go upstairs to return his blanket and cooler and observe his mood while doing so.

It would work perfectly, if only she were willing to cooperate.

And apparently, she wasn't.

"Okay, let me get the sequence of events straight," she said. "He told you was in love with you-"

"He said he was in the _process_ of falling in love with me."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "So he qualified it slightly. Big fucking deal. He still put it out there. You responded by—correct me if I misheard you—telling him to fuck off?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Now you want me to go upstairs under the pretense of returning his cooler and blanket and engage him in small talk so I can figure out whether or not he was serious?"

"That's the plan."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"I took all the leftovers out and put them in the fridge. Obviously, I'm not giving those back to him. I consider them asshole tax for drinking half our coffee this morning. Besides, we kind of have to keep them, since I blew the grocery money paying my own way when he took me out to that pretentious dinner two nights ago."

"For fuck's sake, Esme, this isn't about cheese." She paused, and her face lit with realization. "Wait, there's leftover cheese and prosciut?"

I nodded.

She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Score!" she yelled.

I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry, but eating something other than Instant Lunch makes me obscenely happy."

"Awesome! So bring Cullen his cooler back, thank him for the food, and report back on his mood and general demeanor."

"Let's assume for a moment he _is _sincere—do you really think he'll talk to me about his feelings? And since when do guys just go around making declarations to women who've already offered to have sex with them? Think about it."

"Maybe it's not just about sex. Maybe he gets off on power. I don't know."

"He's really under your skin, isn't he?"

I sighed. "I don't understand it. I mean, I don't even like him."

"Maybe not, but you're obsessed with him."

"Is it that obvious?"

She lifted one of her shoulders in a small shrug. "It is to me. Okay, Esme. I'll do it, but only because I love you."

She walked to the door, threw the blanket over her shoulder and picked up the cooler.

"Thank you," I said.

She gave me an exaggerated eye roll then vanished into the hallway. Unable to focus on anything else, I paced the living room while I waited for her return.

And I paced.

Half an hour passed.

I paced some more.

An hour and a half.

What could she be doing up there?

Two hours.

Okay, this was Maggie I was talking about. More like who could she be doing up there. Cullen did say he lived with a few other guys.

Two hours and forty-five minutes.

She'd better not be doing Cullen!

Four hours.

I didn't know if I should call Cullen or call the police, just that it was getting late and I was getting tired. I got into bed with a book and tried to wait up for her. The next thing I knew, my alarm clock buzzed, confirming my failure. I threw off the covers and ran into the hall. Maggie's bedroom door was open, and she wasn't in it. Upon closer examination, it didn't appear as if she'd been home at all.

She couldn't. She wouldn't. Would she?

Then again, Maggie was capable of anything if alcohol was involved.

Cullenfucker!

There had to be an explanation as to why she spent the night upstairs, I just wished I'd be able to hear it before I faced Cullen in lab. I showered quickly, threw on my scrubs, and hauled ass to campus. I wanted to get out of the building long enough before class that Cullen wouldn't have an opportunity to accost me on Walnut Street.

By the time I took my place at our table, both Cullen and his stubble were already in attendance. When the rest of our team arrived, we got to work. Over the course of the morning, he was quiet and respectful—almost contrite—to the extent that I couldn't help but wonder if he had a reason to feel guilty.

Genteel Cullen was all wrong. It felt contrived—like it was just another part of his game. I found myself irrationally consumed with rage to the point that I wanted to take my scalpel and remove _his_ spleen, rather than the cadaver's. How could his simple presence have me contemplating murder?

"You're nowhere near where you should be cutting."

His voice brought me back to the present. I looked down at my hand holding the scalpel, and sure enough, it was a few inches away from where I was supposed to make the incision. Maybe it wasn't a good time for me to be handling sharp objects.

"Why doesn't someone else take a turn?" I asked.

After one of our lab partners volunteered, I took a small step away from the table, sighing. I needed to get a grip. I'd never let a guy distract me like this. That it was happening now after I worked so hard to get where I am was just icing on my shit cake. Something about this—about him—was different. It was an equation that no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't balance. There were too many unknown variables. X—or in this case, (se)X—was a big nul.

That _had_ to be it. No one had ever talked such a big game then refused to follow through. Then again, that said very little about me. Was I really so simple to be obsessed with a man I couldn't have just because he was unattainable?

"Are you okay?" Cullen whispered to me.

"Peachy. Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's not like you to be so distracted."

"You presumptuous motherfucker. You eavesdrop on a single personal conversation between Maggie and me, and all of sudden, you're my freaking biographer. I hope for all of our sakes you put more effort into your medical training than you put into taking an interest in your would-be conquests. "

"See, that's where you're wrong. I didn't just eavesdrop–"

"Is this when you try to tell me it isn't your fault Maggie has a big a mouth? Though that's true to a point, any person with a modicum of decency would have made his presence known."

"That's just it—I have no decency. You've been saying so ad infinitum since the day we met, yet you hold me to higher standards regardless. Why should anything I do surprise you?"

"It doesn't surprise me; it infuriates me."

"And for the record, what I know about you goes well beyond what I overheard yesterday morning. After all, I _did_ spend last night with your sister."

I snorted. "Love how you go from being in love with me to trying to convince me you did the nasty with Maggie. Nice try, but I know her better than you do. She wouldn't fuck you with a borrowed pussy."

"In other words, you have lower standards than she."

That unbelievable asshole. I no longer cared how godlike he was; I didn't want him anywhere near me.

"Actually, I've upped my standards. Up yours." I flashed him an evil smile and stepped back to the cadaver. As much as I hated Cullen—and I _did_ hate Cullen—I didn't hate him as much as I loved medicine. If I focused on the former, maybe I'd be able to forget about the latter.

That was the plan, anyway, but it changed the moment I arrived home from class.

"Hi honey, you're home." Maggie looked up from painting her toenails just long enough to blow me a kiss.

"That's it? You can't treat this as if it's any other day."

"Isn't it?"

"Maggie!" I wailed. "What the hell happened last night?"

"Oh my god," she exclaimed. "It was the greatest thing ever. They have cable. Can you believe it? Cable! Do you know how much I've missed television? I haven't seen MTV since we moved here. Did you know Madonna is having a contest to make a video for _True Blue_? We're going to enter it—me and two Cullen's roommates. We have the whole thing planned out—it's going to be totally rad."

"Just so you know, Cullen claims you two spent the night together."

"Technically, we did, but there were like, five other guys there."

My jaw dropped.

"No, not like that. Eww! Gag me."

"Wait, Cullen lives with five people in an apartment the size of ours?"

"No, it's bigger. They have the entire fifth floor. Besides, two of the guys don't technically live there; they're just squatting."

"What, like crack-house style?"

"I don't know what the hell is going on. I just know that Cullen's baby brother, Wes, showed up at some point yesterday afternoon, and Cullen wasn't happy about it. They spent of the night talking in Cullen's room. I couldn't make out much of the conversation, just that it wasn't pleasant. Anyway, I'm sorry I don't have information for you. I wasn't about to be like, 'Uh, hey, I know you're in the middle of what appears to be a pretty big family fight, but my sister sent me upstairs to find out if you like her.'"

"Ugh!" I threw myself onto the sofa, groaning. "He's such an asshole. You wouldn't believe the games he was playing in lab." I lowered my voice an octave. "'I know much more than what I overheard, Esme. I spent the night with your sister.'"

"Technically, he isn't lying. But we weren't alone, and you weren't discussed."

"I hate him."

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything.

"What?"

"Just keep telling yourself that. Maybe eventually, you'll start to believe it."

"Whatever." I stood up and went to my room. At the moment, I wasn't any better equipped to deal with Maggie than I was to deal with Cullen.

I gathered my dirty clothes into an IKEA bag, grabbed detergent and my book bag, and headed out to the laundromat across the street. I hated doing laundry even before the majority of my clothing smelled like cadaver juice and formaldehyde; the fact that no matter how I tried to clean it, it still smelled like death only increased my disdain for the chore. But if it got me an hour to myself, it was worth it.

After divided my clothes into two washers and adding the detergent, I slammed the lids of washers down, jumping in surprise at the volume of the noise they made.

"Now that wasn't very nice. What did those washers ever do to you?"

I didn't have to look to know who was standing behind me.

Note to self: regardless of how wretched other aspects of my life might seem, there was no solace to be found in domesticity.

I turned to face him, leaning against the washer. "What are you doing here, Cullen?"

"You got into med school, so you must be somewhat perceptive. Why do you think I'm here?"

"My first guess would involve a quickie and the spin cycle, but since you seem to be alone, I honestly have no clue."

"Very funny. And the idea that I might be here to get my clothes clean didn't occur to you?"

"Don't your whores take care of that sort of thing for you?"

"Not anymore," he admitted, smiling.

"Look, no offense, but I'm not in the mood for your shit right now. Just tell me which machines your clothes are in, and I'll bring them to your apartment when they're finished."

"The lengths to which you'll go to get in my pants."

"Right. Because despite the fact I hate doing laundry, this is all about me wanting to play with your underwear. It has nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to get rid of you."

"If that's what this is about, fine. Except since I like to do laundry, why don't I take care of yours and drop it off to you later?"

He had to be kidding.

"You _like_ to do laundry?" I asked.

"Yes. It makes me feel useful."

"I think you're full of shit. And I don't believe for a second you have any idea how to wash my stuff without ruining it."

"How is your stuff any different than mine? Scrubs are standard-issue, you know."

I folded my arms and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh," he said, laughing.

He moved toward me, and when he spoke, I could feel his breath against my face. "I know what to do with panties, Esme."

As much as I wanted him, I didn't want him to have the upper hand.

"Fine then. Knock yourself out." I strode to the door, but paused before leaving. "Don't forget to add the fabric softener."

Cullen may have won the morning, but I liked to think the afternoon was a draw.

* * *

_**Thanks for your patience. I hope to be back on schedule will all my fics after Labor Day. **_

_**For those of you who don't already know, **_**Art After 5**_** is available in entirety on my website for a limited time. Please take advantage of it; when I take it down, it's gone forever. **_


	6. Step Six: Know The Stakes

I don't own _Twilight._

_

* * *

_

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**Several Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,**

**and an Unplanned Night Alone Together**

**Step Six:**

**Know What Is at Stake**

* * *

The following morning when I went to get dressed, I realized that Cullen had failed to return my IKEA bag, and I was completely out of underwear. With aspirations of recovering my dirty clothes, I threw on my robe and opened the door to my apartment, only to find my laundry bag in the hallway. Not only did Cullen wash, dry, and fold my clothing, but he'd also tucked a detailed sketch of me sleeping into the side of the bag. Despite the fact he'd obviously taken some artistic license with the size of my breasts, it was an accurate rendering that somehow made me look beautiful. Then came the realization that this was how he saw me, and that made me feel beautiful as well. I sat on the floor with the paper in my hand, studying each line and shadow until I had no choice but to get dressed and get to lab.

Then I reached into the bag for a pair of panties, but there were no panties to be found. In their place were several hardened, three-dimensional shapes vaguely resembling birds. Was this his way of telling me he wanted to put his bird in my panties? I sat there, laughing hysterically, until I tried unsuccessfully to unfold one. At that point, I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry; I just knew I'd be going to class without underwear.

It wouldn't be a big deal as long as he shaved. I didn't doubt there'd be a damp spot on my crotch within five minutes if he showed up sporting the stubble. When I arrived at lab, he was already at our table, stubble intact, looking as hot as ever. My only hope was to ignore him.

Too bad he wouldn't let me.

"You're even surlier than usual. What's gotten your panties in a bunch?"

"Nice choice of words."

"What?" he asked, throwing his hands in the air.

"Speaking of bunched-up panties, was it necessary to fold my underwear into origami?"

"Absolutely."

"Why?"

"I majored in art history, remember? Presentation is important to me." He turned back to the lab table. "Did you happen to notice anything else unusual in your laundry bag, or are you one of those glass-half-empty kind of girls?"

"I did. I'm guessing that the portrait is also an example of your handiwork?"

He nodded.

"Somehow, the fact that you can draw doesn't surprise me. Your other artistic talent, however..." I thought of the perfectly starched folds he'd placed in my panties. Making swans out of cotton bikini underwear couldn't have been easy. "How did you do it? I mean, it must have taken you hours."

"I'm used to spending hours putting my cock in random women's panties."

"Your cock?"

"You must have only seen the swan. There were also some roosters."

"I was serious."

"And I'm seriously trying to live up to your expectations. You've put so much effort into one-upping me, you'd be disappointed if you were to find out I'm actually a nice guy."

"It was an honest question."

"Fine. Here's an honest answer. I used an iron to press the folds and heavy starch so they'd stay in place. As far as the drawing is concerned, I watched you as you slept Saturday night and began sketching as soon as I got home."

"Wow."

"I don't understand why you're so surprised."

"It's not that I'm surprised–"

"No, you're in shock, and it's insulting. Regardless of how you feel about me personally, you must know Princeton isn't in the habit of conferring art degrees on individuals who don't possess at least a modicum of ability."

"But you majored in Art History."

"Yes. Because as a little kid, I liked to color. Then as a big kid, I liked to draw. In high school, I discovered I liked to paint. I knew I wasn't talented enough to do it professionally, so I found another area in which to focus. You'd think given your background in music, this wouldn't be so hard for you to grasp."

"It isn't your artistic ability that surprised me. I don't pretend to know you; obviously, you have interests outside of playing doctor...uh...I mean studying to become a doctor. It was the idea that you'd put all this time into doing something for me."

He turned to face me and took a few steps forward. When he spoke, he was close enough for me to feel his breath on my face.

"That shouldn't surprise you, either."

Our other lab partners arrived, ending our discussion. Though Cullen turned his focus to the cadaver, I remained focused on him. Something was different about him that I couldn't place.

Stubble? Check.

Chin cleft? Check.

Dimples? Check.

Bulge hanging to the left side of his scrubs that would seem to indicate the presence of his sizable package? Check.

The luster in his eyes that announced to the world exactly how highly he thought of himself? Noticeably absent.

Maybe the stress of first year was starting to wear on him—it sure as shit was wearing on me. Wanting to give him some space, I went to the library to study so he wouldn't feel obligated to walk home with me. Three hours later, I was so exhausted I thought my eyes would fall out of my head. I gathered my things and left the building, only to find Cullen leaning against the wall, his hands hiding his face. With his shoulders slumped forward in defeat, he groaned, pulling at his hair. As much as I wanted to offer him comfort, I knew if I were upset, he'd be the last person I'd want to witness it. I'd just started to back away when his eyes met mine.

If he was anything like me—and I was beginning to think he was—he'd need to save face.

"Just the person I was hoping to find."

"Right."

"No, I'm serious."

"Look, Esme. If my day gets any worse, I'll end up in Byberry. I'm not in the mood for your insults right now."

"Byberry, huh?" I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "You realize I want to specialize in psychiatry."

"And I want to be a pediatric gynecologist. Now call me an asshole, and be on your way."

I refused to take the bait.

"I just wanted to thank you. Though I thought there was an outside chance you'd do my laundry after you offered, I never expected the drawing or the origami, both are lovely. I'm sorry if I seemed ungrateful. Then again, the beak in my butt crack may be causing me slight discomfort."

"In other words, my cock's poking at your ass." His smile was so sexy, I didn't care if it came at my expense.

"Something like that. Are you heading home?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Not if I can help it."

"I'm sorry if Maggie's semi-squatter status is bothering you."

"Huh?"

"My sister. I know she's been hanging out at your place nonstop since she found out you had cable."

"What does cable have to do with anything?"

I shrugged. "MTV."

"As if you don't have cable."

"Actually, we don't."

"Oh. Well, your sister isn't the problem. My brother, on the other hand..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Regardless, I won't keep you. I'll let you get back to...well...whatever one does in dark alleys."

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"I'll walk with you."

"I thought you were avoiding your apartment."

"I am, but I'd also like to avoid see you end up a crime statistic." We were a black away from our building before he spoke again. "What are your parents like?"

"My mom is a tailor for Wanamaker's, and my dad works on campus."

"That's what they do; I asked what they're like."

"Oh. Normal, I guess."

He laughed. "What is that?"

"They love each other, and they love us."

Looking straight ahead, he nodded. When he spoke, his voice was cold, almost detached.

"My brother's crashing at my place. He's the reason my parents aren't talking to me at the moment, so the fact that he came running to me is making that situation worse. He was supposed to start college last month, but he had some legal trouble over the summer. After a great deal of negotiation, it was determined he could defer his admission for a year, he completed community service and a drug rehabilitation program. He doesn't think either is necessary, so rather than report to detox, he came to me. I don't know what the hell to do. My father can't be bothered, my mother is oblivious, and though I know it's not my responsibility, I feel as if I have to take care of him."

"At eighteen shouldn't he be capable of taking care of himself?"

"I told you I didn't know what normal was."

"Right. You make birds from panties."

"Exactly."

We reached our building, and he walked me to my door. He offered me a slight smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. I didn't want it to go away, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"Spend the night with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Maggie is probably at your place, so it's only fair. You can have a few hours to think, and maybe in the morning, you'll know what to do."

I unlocked the door, and he followed me inside. Just as I thought, Maggie was nowhere to be found.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't." I went into the bathroom to wash up and change out of my clothes. For reasons I didn't completely understand, I donned a black lace slip instead of my sleepshirt. It wasn't because I wanted to take advantage of the situation; it was because I didn't want the situation to take advantage of me. As long as I felt sexy, I'd be able to hold my own with him.

When I came reemerged, Cullen was lying on the floor of the living room with his eyes closed, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. I cleared my throat, and he jumped to his feet.

"If you want to sleep on the floor, I'll get you a pillow and some blankets."

"Where do you want me?" he asked, moving toward me.

I rolled my eyes. "Sounds like someone has his game on."

"Do you honestly think this is a game?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Because you're a player."

His fingertips trailed up my bare arms before brushing my hair from my shoulder. "Except I'm not playing you. And if you'd stop trying to play me, you could win."

"Win what?" I asked.

"Everything you've ever wanted."

* * *

_Byberry was a psychiatric hospital in Philadelphia. It's since been abandoned and demolished. Thanks for reading._


	7. Step Seven: Keep Your Eyes on the Prize

I don't own _Twilight._

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**Countless Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,**

**And Several Nights Alone Together**

**Resulting From an Unexpected **

**and Bizarrely Advantageous Cohabitation**

**Step Seven:**

**Keep Your Eyes on the Prize, **

**Not What He Has Between His Thighs**

**

* * *

**

Cullen's recent panty trick might have implied he was back to trying to weasel his way between my legs, but that didn't mean he could give me what I wanted while he was there. On the other hand—specifically, my right one—my middle and index fingers were a sure thing. Then again, there were lots of very smart women who'd had no-strings-attached sex with him. Either he'd been able to get them off, or there were several very disappointed women walking around Philadelphia. I thought of the women in our anatomy lab; the fact the majority of them appeared to be miserable most of the time wasn't exactly encouraging.

Leaning closer to me, he spoke directly into my ear. "Just tell me."

"I want to come." I put my arms around his waist, hooked my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, and pressed my hips against his.

The sound he made was a cross between and gasp and a moan, and though I wasn't sure how to classify it, I knew it was real, that it came from a place inside him where genuine emotion managed to trump victory's fleeting euphoria. It also meant his guard was down. I wondered if maybe he was telling the truth—that at least for the moment, he wasn't playing me. Then his arms tightened around me and his fingers threaded themselves into my hair at the base of my neck, and I wasn't sure if I cared anymore.

"You don't need me for that," he whispered, grinding himself against me.

"I don't _need _you, period. I just want you."

He angled my head back slightly, and his eyes met his mine. Though I couldn't identify the emotion I saw in them, its intensity made me uncomfortable enough that I averted my gaze.

"Look at me," he said. He cupped my face and ran his calloused thumbs across my cheeks. "I both _need_ you and _want_ you. I don't think you'll ever understand how much."

He kissed me, and though it wasn't our first kiss, it might as well have been. It wasn't a power play or a seduction attempt, nor was it solely about competition and lust—not that the latter wasn't present. His mouth met mine with impassioned roughness, and somehow he managed to repeat without words the same sentiment he'd just spoken.

It almost compelled me to believe him—and _that_ was why there was something I needed to make clear to him. His lips trailed to my neck, affording me the ability to speak.

"I know you're having a bad time right now–"

He straightened his back and replaced his mouth with his hands. Looking into my eyes, he stroked my neck and shoulders before brushing his knuckles down my chest.

"Believe me," he said. "This is helping."

Then he pinched my nipples through my slip, and I didn't doubt it was helping me, too—far more than I cared to admit. Gasping, I tried not to let my body overwhelm my mind.

"I think that may be the problem."

His eyes met mine, but his hands stayed on my breasts. "I don't understand."

"The last time you had sex..." I stopped when I remembered I was talking to Cullen. "Wait, are you even sure when that was? I mean, it must be hard to keep track–"

He rolled his eyes. "I remember it, Esme."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a fairly intelligent person, and I haven't done anything that would cause me to lose brain cells."

"No, I mean, why did you have sex _that _night? Not that you have to do it at night..." I stammered like an idiot.

"Because I needed to get off." His hands moved to my ass and pulled me into him. "When I asked you what you wanted, you said you wanted to come..." He rocked his hips from side to side, dragging his denim-clad erection across the front of my body. "I can make you come, Esme."

I was ready to explode. Then he let go and stepped away from me. I thought he'd changed his mind, until he took me by the hand and led me into my room, stopping only after the backs of his legs hit the bed. He sat down and spread his knees, pulling me until I stood between them. His hands went under my slip, and his calloused fingers slowly felt their way up my legs.

I'd never been more turned on, and I was starting to panic.

"I don't think I can do this."

Immediately, he pulled my slip down to cover my legs and rested his hands on the bed beside him.

"Okay," he said.

"I thought I could. I mean, I want to." I ran my hands through my hair, groaning. "God, how I want to. It's just I've never done this before–"

"Wait, you're a virgin?" He looked appalled.

I snorted. "God, no. Though the sex I've had has been largely forgettable, I _have_ had sex. Lots of it, in fact."

"Okay." He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I'm confused–"

"I know I threw myself at you on our second date, and that probably gave you certain ideas about who I am, but that wasn't me. My asexual roller-rink get-up the night before wasn't me either. Both nights, I was just trying to make you feel as off-balance as you do me. I'm neither easy nor hard to get. I'm just normal. I'm twenty-two years old, and while I _am _sexually experienced, I've never done _this._"

"What are you talking about?"

If I told him I'd never had casual sex, he'd just feed me some line about how this wasn't casual for him. Then tomorrow at lab, he'd scope out some fresh anatomy, and I'd end up spending life in prison for castrating him with school-issued surgical tools. Besides, I knew it wasn't that simple.

"How many times have you been in love?" I asked.

"Twice."

"How many sexual partners have you had?" I regretted the question the second it came out of my mouth. "Wait, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know, but I'm guessing if you told me, it would be a number greater than two."

"Yes."

"Yeah," I said, sighing. "The number for me is the same."

"You've been in love two times?"

"That's not what I'm talking about. I meant that I've only ever had sex when I thought I was in love. I've never done it just because I was horny and someone offered, or as a means of giving comfort..."

"Oh." He sighed, nodding his head.

"I'm sorry for leading you on."

"You haven't."

"No, I have. I invited you to spend the night with me, then paraded around in front of you in lingerie. There's a certain connotation to that sort of behavior, you know?"

"I took off my shirt."

Shrugging, he leaned back onto my bed and braced himself with his elbows, but I remained frozen in place. Under the circumstances, I should have removed myself from my position between his legs, but I couldn't—I liked being there too much, even if I knew I wasn't ready to welcome him between mine. My hypocrisy didn't escape me.

"You'd take it all off it I'd let you."

"Probably," he admitted, smiling.

"That's why I'm sorry."

"Esme, I'm not going to pretend I've always behaved admirably. There are lots of things I've done I'm not exactly proud of, but this..." He gestured between us."...isn't one of them. I've never pressured someone into sex, nor have I ever made a woman feel guilty for declining my advances. I respect that this isn't something you feel comfortable doing. If you want me to go home, I will."

"Is that what you want?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"Because of your brother?"

"Because I'd rather be with you. The fact that staying here prevents me from witnessing Wes's self-destruction is just a bonus."

"Is it that bad?"

"Only because there's no accountability. He can get into as much trouble as he wants—my parents will not only make excuses for him, they'll make the whole thing go away. Wes knows this, so he has no reason to pull himself together."

"They can't be _that_ over-indulgent," I said. "After all, you turned out okay."

"I'm not an addict. Though I did my share of experimenting, I've always had an interest in medicine. When I was his age, I'd smoke an occasional bowl, but I never dabbled in the hard stuff. I couldn't; I knew what it could do to a person's body." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Anyway, I deal with Wes all the time; I'm used to it. He's not worth a moment of your discomfort, and shouldn't factor into whether or not you allow me to spend the night. Make the decision based on what you want; don't worry about anything else."

What I wanted embarrassed the shit out of me, but since I was getting used to feeling like a douchebag around Cullen, I put it out there anyway.

"I want to give you a hug. Is that okay?"

When he didn't say anything, I slid onto the beside him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Thank you," he said.

"I haven't done anything."

"You've done more than you know."

Cullen didn't sleep in his apartment that night—or any night of the next several weeks. Maggie was thrilled to curl up in his king-sized water bed and watch MTV each night, even if she did make him buy a new set of sheets and unwrap them in front of her, just to be safe. She claimed it was only fair—especially considering the likelihood that Cullen's bedding had seen more bodily fluids than a porn set and an anatomy lab combined. Meanwhile, the sheets on her bed were pristine.

Of course, Maggie assumed Cullen was crashing in her room. Though she knew how close I'd come to having sex with him, she also knew I couldn't bring myself to go through with it. As far as she was concerned, he was staying with me for academic purposes only. Specifically, so we could study anatomy together without distractions. It didn't occur to her that I was paying special attention to his. Though I'd yet to see him naked, I still considered myself an expert on his body. After all, each night I pressed myself up against it and went to sleep in his arms.

* * *

**Today is my birthday, and I'm trying to give some love back to everyone who's given it to me. As always, thank you for reading. **


	8. Step Eight: Things Aren't What They Seem

I don't own_ Twilight. _

_Huge thanks to bookishqua. _

_ Happy Birthday, Jessi!_

_

* * *

_

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**Four Months of Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,**

**Countless Nights Alone Together Caused by **

**an Unexpected-Though-Bizarrely-Advantageous Cohabitation,**

**and One Foray Outside of Philadelphia**

**Step Eight:**

**Remember Things Aren't Always as They Seem**

**(Nice Car. Sorry About Your Dick.)**

**

* * *

**

Weeks later, I wondered if Cullen would ever cease driving me crazy. His moments of cockiness and undiluted ego still infuriated me, but they were becoming less and less frequent. The biggest change was in myself. I no longer found myself wanting to wrap my hands around his throat as often as I found myself wanting to wrap my legs around his waist. Sexual frustration be damned! I was determined that my resolve not crumble.

But there was more to it than that. The more I learned about him, the more I liked him—and not just because he was nice to look at and made a decent study partner. Everything I'd witnessed seemed to indicate he was also a decent human being. And as I watched him curled up with a book on my living-room floor, I found myself starting to wonder how much of what I'd heard about his promiscuity was actually true. He might have looked like he'd fallen out of a Gap ad, but that didn't necessarily mean he was a player. If anything, he looked as if he belonged there. Even crazier, I was starting to think he belonged with me. Then the phone rang, and all that was placed on hold.

"Hello?"

"You have a collect call from your mother, do you accept the charges?"

This couldn't be good.

"Yes!" As soon as the line clicked over, I started talking. "Mom? What's wrong?"

"I'm at Cooper visiting Pop-Pop," she said. "There's no easy way to tell you this, sweetheart, but he took a turn for the worse. The doctors don't expect him to make it through the night."

I wasn't surprised as much as I was relieved. He'd fought Parkinson's bravely; I was grateful he wouldn't suffer any longer. Despite the fact I knew this was for the best, I couldn't stop my eyes from filling with tears. My face was wet for all of a second before Cullen was standing behind me, his calloused palms rubbing my shoulders.

"Visiting hours aren't an issue," Mom continued, "but you should get here as soon as possible. Is Margaret there with you?"

"She's at school."

"That should be easy enough for her to get to the hospital," she said, sounding relieved. "She can take the train to Broadway and be here within the hour."

"It won't take me much longer; the El runs every ten minutes."

"The El isn't safe after dark, and you know it. Take a cab."

"I can't afford it. The El is fine, Mom."

"Where are you trying to go?" Cullen whispered against my ear.

I covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with my hand. "My grandfather—you know, the one who has Parkinson's?"

He nodded.

"He's developed aspiration pneumonia, and he's not expected to make it through the night. I want to see him before he dies, and my mom is giving me shit about taking SEPTA after dark."

"Tell her I'll drive you," he said.

"How? What are you going to do, ride me on the handlebars of your ten-speed?"

"Trust me, Esme." He pointed to the receiver and gestured for me to tell my mother.

Oh my god, he was fucking brilliant! How could I not have realized his offer was nothing more than a clever ruse to get my mom off my back about taking the El alone at night?

"Never mind," I said into the receiver. "I have a friend who can drive me. I'll be there as soon as possible. I love you, Mom."

I hung up the phone and turned to Cullen. "You're amazing I would never have thought to lie and say I had a ride."

"It wasn't a lie; I have every intention of driving you."

"Since when do you have a car?" I asked.

"Uh, since I was sixteen," he said. "Granted, the one I have now isn't the same car I had then—I crashed that one. Now that I think about it, I crashed my second and third cars, too. Possibly my fourth, but I think I blamed that one on Wes. Does any of this matter? The point is, I can drive you wherever you need to go..." He wrinkled his forehead as he looked at me. "Where _do_ you need to go?"

"Cooper Hospital in Camden."

"Camden?" He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Isn't that the car-theft capital of the Western Hemisphere?"

"Since the odds seem to favor you totaling your car before we cross the Ben Franklin Bridge, do Camden's crime stats even matter?"

"Probably not," he said, putting on his coat. "I'll meet you outside in twenty minutes."

When Cullen pulled up outside our building, I didn't recognize him right away. Then again, I never expected in a million years he'd show up driving _that.  
_

"Get in," he said, pushing open the passenger-side door of a late-model, black Porsche.

"Have you lost you mind?"

"Why would you think that?"

"That car is so hot it's smoking."

He looked at me, laughing. "You think I stole it?"

"Didn't you?"

"No."

"Good answer," I said, settling myself into the passenger seat. "That way if we get pulled over, the cops won't consider me your accomplice."

We were halfway over the bridge before he spoke again. "Esme, are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Cullen, if I couldn't handle being around death, I wouldn't be in medical school."

"That isn't what I meant. If I were to get a similar phone call, I wouldn't feel compelled to rush anywhere. The relative in question would already be dead, and whomever was left with the task of notifying me would actually be relaying the message that my attendance was required at the services. I'm aware I haven't known you very long, but I had the impression your family wasn't like that."

"We're not."

"Then why are you so...calm?"

"Because what's happening tonight...it's merciful, and it's for the best." I sighed, trying to think of how I could make him understand. "As far back as I can remember, there was a sparkle in my grandfather's eyes whenever he'd see Maggie or me. Even after there was no medical reason to believe he had any idea who I was, he'd take one look at me and I'd know he was still with us. When _that _went away—when we could no longer look in his eyes and know he loved us—that was when we knew we lost him. His passing means he's at peace, that he's joined my grandmother in heaven. That _has_ to be better than wasting away in a nursing home." Feeling his stare, I turned my head to look at him. "What?"

"I never realized you were religious."

"I don't know that I'd call myself religious, but I am a practicing Catholic." I reached for the crucifix I wear around my neck and held it up. "Unlike Maggie, I don't wear one of these because Madonna does."

"I never thought you did," he said, laughing.

The next thing I knew, I was laughing, too. When the car was silent again, I reached across the gear-shift and rested my hand on his knee.

"I'm glad you're here," I said.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Somehow, I didn't think he was playing me anymore.

When we pulled up in front of the hospital, Maggie was standing outside smoking. Her look of shock as I climbed out of the Porsche turned to one of amusement when she saw who was driving it.

"Nice car, Carlisle," she said, waving the hand that held her lit Parliament. "Sorry about your dick."

I rolled my eyes. "Maggie!"

"Like you weren't thinking the same thing!"

"Actually, I wasn't."

"Wait, do you have evidence to the contrary?"

Though I said nothing, I felt my face heat up. I didn't need a mirror to know it was the color of my hair.

**-o-O-o-**

A few hours later, it was over. I told Cullen he didn't have to stay, that I could crash at my parents' house and take the train back into town in the morning, but he wouldn't hear of it. The next thing I knew, he was sitting at the round formica table in the kitchen of my childhood home. In less than five minutes, my father managed to wrestle more information from Cullen than I had in the past five months.

It turned out Cullen's family was from Connecticut. His father worked in construction, and his mother stayed home. Cullen claimed he wasn't as close to his brother as he'd like and admitted he didn't know it was possible for siblings to be friends until he met Maggie and me. Through the entire exchange, I said nothing. Seeing him in my parents' kitchen like that—all cleft chin and stubble—he should have seemed out of place, but he didn't. Despite the bizarreness of the situation, he appeared to be completely at ease. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he wanted to be there—not only with my family, but with me. Even crazier was the realization I wanted to be with him—not because he was gorgeous and cocky and overconfident, but because he challenged me. I loved how I felt when I was with him.

Then it hit me—I was falling for him.

We drove back to University City in silence. Though his arm was around me as we walked from he parked the car back to our building, when I unlocked the door to my apartment he didn't come inside with me.

"That's right," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "Since Maggie stayed at home with our parents, you can sleep in your own bed for a change. You must miss it."

"Not really. I just didn't want to presume that you wanted me–"

"I do..." I took a deep breath. "...want you."

"In your bed or in your life?"

"Everywhere." I knew if I looked at him, I'd lose my nerve. When I spoke again, my eyes were closed. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

"What?"

"I love you, Carlisle, and I want you to spend the night with me."

The next thing I knew, his arms were around me. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."


	9. Step Nine: Ignore the Dust On Your Poon

I don't own_ Twilight._

Huge thanks to Books.

See, Jessi? I told you there was more. ;)

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Losing a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**Four Months of Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,**

**Countless Nights Alone Together Caused by**

**an Unexpected-Though-Bizarrely-Advantageous Cohabitation,**

**One Foray Outside of Philadelphia Due to a Family Emergency,**

**and One Shockingly Sudden Marriage Proposal**

**Step Nine:**

**Think With Your Head; Ignore the Cobwebs On Your Poontang**

* * *

I pulled Cullen into my apartment with me, kicking the door closed behind us. He kissed me hard and held me tight, and I was mere seconds away from demanding he get naked immediately when it hit me. If the rumors were true—and I honestly wasn't sure one way or the other—I was about to become Number Seven. The rational part of was me screaming that if I went to bed with him, he'd be gone before morning, probably having set speed records in that Porche he swore wasn't stolen. I doubted it would stop me at this point; I'd never wanted anything as much as I wanted to feel him inside me—provided the decision to do so was an informed one.

I moved my mouth away from his, but it did nothing to cool things down. He dragged his lips across my cheek to my earlobe, sucking it between his lips. If things went any further, I'd never be able to stop. I had to ask now—if not, I never would. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words that came out were not what I'd intended.

"I want you."

His breath was hot against my ear. "I'm yours."

"For the night?" I asked, bracing myself for the inevitable qualification of his statement.

"For as long as you're willing to have me."

The fact he'd known exactly what I'd needed to hear wasn't at all reassuring. Quite the opposite—if anything, it reminded me he'd had lots of opportunity to perfect his game. And though I didn't want to, I couldn't help but wonder on how many of our classmates had he used the same line?

"Before we do this, there's something I need to ask you."

He took a step backwards but didn't release me from his embrace. "I love you, too," he said, cupping my face in one of his hands.

I stared at him with my mouth gaping open, unable to believe what I was hearing. "Seriously?"

"This shouldn't come as a surprise to you. I mean, I told you once before."

"When did you..." I stopped when the memory came back to me. "I told you to fuck off."

"You did. That my declaration was true should be evident by the fact that I'm still here." Brushing my face with his thumb, he moved toward me. "Now, where were we?"

"I'm not done yet."

"You weren't going to ask me if I loved you?"

"No." Knowing it was now or never, I took a deep breath. "Did you really sleep with all six of those girls?"

His eyes shifted from one side to the other. "All six of which girls?"

"Your alleged anatomy-lab conquests."

"Oh." Though his nod seemed to indicate he understood the question, he made no move to speak.

"Please don't be offended I asked."

"I'm not. And I fully intent to answer. It's just..." His eyes darted around the apartment; he looked at everything but me. "Maybe we should sit..."

I did _not_ like the sound of this. "Why? I mean, it's a yes-or-no question."

"There's more to it than that."

I couldn't hide my panic. "There were more than six?"

"More than six what?"

"Women you've nailed."

"Total or in our anatomy lab? Because one number is significantly higher than the other..."

"I think I'm going to be sick," I muttered under my breath. "How many of our classmates?"

"Six." He turned up his palms as if it should have been obvious.

Maybe it should have. Almost all rumors have some basis in reality, and it's not as if he'd ever denied this one. I shouldn't feel as if I'd been punched in the gut, but I did. I couldn't help it.

"Come on," he said, pulling me over to the sofa.

For several minutes, we sat in silence.

"Esme, please tell me what's wrong."

I shrugged. "I thought I was different."

"You _are _different."

"Right. Only because my panties weren't down around my ankles the second you expressed interest."

"I'm not going to pretend I've always behaved admirably–"

"You couldn't if you wanted—given what you just admitted, it's safe to say the jig is up!"

"–and I'd like to think after all the time we've spent together, you wouldn't place such importance on casual encounters that are not only in the past but of no significance to me whatsoever."

"Tell me something—would the other parties involved consider their encounters with you insignificant?"

"I wouldn't presume to speak on their behalf. I _will_ say I never misled them. God, Esme..." He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "I don't want you to think that's what I do–"

"Except it _is_ what you do."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's something I _did_. As much as I want you to understand that's not who I _am_, I shouldn't have to justify my past indiscretions, nor will I apologize for having had a life before I met you."

"That's not what I'm asking. It's just..." I sighed. "I hate to think of myself as the latest in a series–"

"Then don't—I know I don't think of you that way. I love you, Esme." He clasped my hands in his. "I love you. And if I have to marry you tomorrow for you to believe me, I'll start planning the ceremony now."

"You'd marry me?"

"Yes."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

He had to be kidding.

"That's a great idea!" I clapped my hands in front of my chest. "I mean, we could do a two-for-one with Pop-Pop's funeral. Would it be more tasteful to say our vows before or after he receives the Rite of Christian Burial?"

"I heard your father tell you the services would be early next week. That means tomorrow's wide open."

I searched his face for evidence of sarcasm but came up empty. "You're out of your fucking mind. This is so wrong."

"You're right." He slid off the couch and knelt in front me.

"That wasn't what I meant," I muttered.

"I love you, Esme. Would you marry me?"

"No."

"What, have you changed your mind about being in love with me already?"

"No, but–"

"Okay, so let's recap. You love me; I love you. You question my intentions toward you–"

"Can you blame me?"

"Under the circumstances, not really. So let me prove to you they're pure. Come on, give me one good reason not to become my wife."

"For all I know, you're bad in bed."

He threw his head back, laughing. "I'm not; trust me."

"Please, that's what every guy says. My ex said it, too—and sex with him was so boring, I'd go over Latin declensions in my head to pass the time until he finished."

A stubble-covered dimple formed at the right corner of his mouth. "Take my word for it—any Latin words that come into your mind while I'm inside you will be ones you'd never dream of declining."

"Prove it."

"You'll see for yourself...after we're married, of course."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Tomorrow night." Sighing, I folded my arms across my chest.

"If you say _yes_, it will be our wedding night."

He couldn't be serious. I knew for a fact there was a seventy-two hour waiting period for marriage licenses. This _had_ to be a big joke—in which case, I couldn't wait for the punchline.

"Fine, Cullen. I'll marry you."


	10. Step Ten: Call His Bluff

I don't own _Twilight_.

This is for you Katy. Thank you for everything you've done.

This is the last chapter. When I outlined this, I conceived it as a novella about their whirlwind non-courtship. I'll probably add scenes from their future down the road, so you may want to keep this on alerts.

* * *

**The Masen Sisters' Guide to Marrying a Player**

**In Two Dates, One Morning After,**

**Four Months of Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,**

**Countless Nights Alone Together Caused by**

**an Unexpected-Though-Bizarrely-Advantageous Cohabitation,**

**One Foray Outside of Philadelphia Due to a Family Emergency,**

**and a Shockingly Sudden Proposal Followed**

**by a Lovely Ceremony at William Penn's Feet**

**Step Ten:**

**Don't Be Afraid to Call His Bluff**

* * *

"Let me get this straight..." Maggie stretched herself out on her bed and propped her head up with one of her hands. "Last night, he asked you to marry him..."

"Yes," I said, frantically perusing the contents of her closet.

I was starting to lose my patience. She and I had been through this at least a dozen times already—the events of the past twenty-four hours weren't going to become any less crazy with repetition.

"And you accepted because you thought he was full of shit?"

"Yes."

"And he made all these promises, apologized for not having a ring, then moved Nana's ring from your right hand to your left one?"

I held up my left hand, flashing the ring that once belonged to my grandmother. "I told you all this already–"

"Then you wake up this morning to a note telling you to meet him at City Hall at sundown and not to forget your driver's license."

"Yes."

"City Hall, Esme. City-fucking Hall. You know—where legally binding shit goes down?"

"Yes!" I yelled, exasperated. "What's your point?"

"You're _so_ getting married today."

"Uh, highly doubtful. Now, are you going to help me find something to wear or not?"

"No. Not until you acknowledge there's a possibility—albeit a small one—that this is for real."

"It can't be. There's no way he could get a marriage license this quickly."

"You can get anything if you have friends in high places."

I looked over my shoulder at her, rolling my eyes. "If Cullen had friends like that, do you really think he'd live here?"

"I don't know, Esme. He drives a brand-new Porsche–"

"I don't think that was his. I mean, his dad's a construction worker and his mom is a homemaker."

"He never said his father was a construction worker—he said his father works in construction. That could mean anything."

"Well, unless his dad's a judge, he's shit out of luck when it comes to marriage licenses." I was reaching the very back of Maggie's closet. The possibility she'd have something suitable for me to wear tonight was becoming about as slim as the likelihood I'd leave City Hall a married woman. I was about to give up when I saw a very familiar garment bag tucked away behind a fake leopard-fur coat. "Why do you have Mom's prom dress?"

"I borrowed it for the 'Make My Video' contest. You remember that, right?"

"I remember you filmed it on a porno set and Cullen had to go be your bodyguard, but I don't see how Mom's dress enters into the equation."

"Oh," she said. "Well, that was what I was wearing. It's off-white and lace." She shrugged. "I thought it looked kind of bridal. It went with the whole 'Like a Virgin' thing."

I moved the garment back to the hook on her closet door and unzipped it. "Does it fit you?"

"Perfectly. I mean, I'm taller than Mom so it was tea-length on me, but it worked."

Nodding, I brushed the bodice of the dress with my fingertips. "I always loved this dress."

And I had. It was everything a party dress should be—a fitted bodice with chiffon accordion pleats accenting a sweetheart neckline fell into a full skirt with a built-in crinoline.

"Don't you wish we wear could fifties' clothes all the time?" she asked. "I mean, they're so much more flattering than slouch socks and stirrup pants."

"This dress is from 1960," I corrected. "And you do wear fifties' clothing—it's just that back then, what you wear to clubs was called underwear."

"Oh, you're so funny," she said, smacking her lips. "Though you know, now that I think about it, not only would Mom's dress fit you, it's both old _and _borrowed. You're aren't going to do any better than that."

"This isn't a real wedding, Maggie."

"We shall see. You have to admit, I'm usually right about things."

I snorted. "Sure. Remember the time when we were kids you came to me all hysterical thinking you were born without a clitoris? How right were you then?"

"I didn't know where to look! I found it later. So maybe I'd flunk anatomy, who cares? I'm good with clothes, and you should wear that dress."

Maggie might be full of shit most of the time, but this was something she'd gotten right.

The dress was perfect.

**-o-O-o-**

When I arrived at City Hall, Cullen was waiting for at the entrance...in tails. Had he left his stubble intact, I would have jumped him right then and there.

"I knew you'd look beautiful, but..." He shook his head, smiling. "I have no words."

Unfortunately for him, I did. "Why the hell did you shave?"

"Excuse me?"

"This," I said, touching his chin.

He laughed. "It _is_ our wedding day. The least I could do was groom myself properly."

With his arm around my waist, he led me down the corridor to the elevators.

"Nice tux. Let me guess—you had enough foresight last night to steal a Porsche from someone who'd recently picked up his dry cleaning?"

"The tails and the Porsche are both mine," he said.

"Right. I suppose that's why you live the ghetto."

"My father and I are somewhat estranged at the moment, and he's frozen my assets to 'teach me a lesson'." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I gain control of my trust fund when I marry, and that will happen momentarily. Suffice it to say money won't be an issue for us."

I couldn't contain my laughter. "That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard."

"Perhaps. It's true, though."

I followed him into the elevator, watching as he pushed the button for the top floor. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

After the doors opened, we walked through another deserted hallway and into another elevator. Strangely enough, it was made of glass.

"Have you ever been to the top of the clock tower?" he asked.

"You mean the observation deck?"

"Yes."

"No," I said. "Is that where we're going?"

He nodded, smiling. "I wanted you to know how it feels to have the world at your feet."

It would be sweet if he weren't so full of himself.

"And this is an emotion with which you're familiar?"

"Not exactly...or at least, not yet. I suspect I will be in about twenty minutes."

A man in a black robe greeted us at the elevator.

"Hello, Esme," he said. "It's nice to meet you. My nephew was so excited you said_ yes_, he wouldn't hear of waiting three days." He turned to Cullen. "The witnesses are here. Once we take care of the paperwork, we can begin."

I turned to Cullen and whispered through my Saccharin smile. "This is real?"

"It always has been."

When his eyes met mine, I felt something I'd never felt before. And though I didn't know what it was, I knew it was wonderful and it was because of him. It didn't matter how crazy this was, that I barely knew him, or that he might be a two-pump chump capable of grand-theft auto. It didn't matter if he'd been a player or if he'd once played me. This was right. _We_ were right.

Fifteen minutes later, with the lights of the city shining beneath me, I lost the player. It wasn't a huge surprise—all along, I knew _that_ was only a matter of time.

What I never expected was that I'd gain a husband.


	11. Step Eleven: End on Top

**Every year on my birthday, I give presents. This is the first of several. Next gift will be tomorrow. **

******If there are errors, I apologize. My husband promised he'd beta this for me, and he fell asleep while I was writing. But before he did, he told me to put in an author's note that it's totally his fault if this sucks. Since I'm such a dutiful wife, I feel compelled to oblige him. **

* * *

The Masen Sisters' Guide to Fucking a Player

In Two Dates, One Morning After,

Four Months of Horribly Awkward Gross Anatomy Labs,

Countless Nights Together Caused by

an Unexpected-Though-Bizarrely-Advantageous Cohabitation,

One Foray to Camden Due to a Family Emergency,

a Shockingly Sudden Marriage Proposal,

an Intimate Wedding Ceremony at William Penn's Feet,

and Promises of Forever in a Ghetto Apartment

Step Eleven: End on Top

* * *

We walked back to our building arm in arm. Every so often, a light would shine off the plain silver band now decorating the fourth finger of my left hand.

"Don't worry." He raised my hand to his lips before pulling his keys out of his pocket. "I'm not thrilled with it either, but it's temporary."

"What, our marriage?"

"No." He dropped my hand and took a step away from me, feigning offense. "What kind of person do you take me for? I was referring to our rings. They were the best I could do with such short notice. Honestly, I'm amazed yours even fits you."

"I still can't believe you bought wedding bands."

He laughed. "I had a feeling you didn't believe this would be a real wedding. I thought if I left it up to you, I'd end up with paper straw wrapper tied around my finger."

"I would have gotten to it eventually."

"I know. And like I said, I have every intention of upgrading them. Thanks to good old Jackhammer, I'm in a bit of a cash crunch at the moment, but—"

"I know," I said, rolling my eyes. Would he ever give this trust-fund bullshit a rest? "Now that you're married, you're rolling in dough."

"Well, not exactly. It's going to take at least a few banking days for the changes to take effect–"

"I didn't marry you for your imaginary money, Cullen."

That was when it hit me—we were really married. Somehow in less than a day, I went from inviting Cullen to share my bed, to inviting him to share my life, to somehow being bound to him forever in holy matrimony.

Holy shit.

It had to be sexual frustration. That was it—nothing else could drive me to insanity this quickly. I took a moment to think about it. The problem was was Cullen's package. Over the time I've known him, I'd only touched it once, but I'd felt in against me more times than I could count. Had his teasing me with it made me so desperate that I'd marry him just to get it inside me?

Yes.

Yes, it had. And I wasn't about to wait a moment longer.

"Seriously, my income isn't imaginary," he said. "We should probably talk about–"

"Think you could move a little faster?"

"I could, but I won't."

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not. But this is our wedding night, and I have no intention of rushing things," he said as we climbed the steps to my apartment.

"There are some things—one act in particular—I don't want to rush, either. It's the stuff that comes before..."

He flashed his trademark panty-dropping smile.

Meanwhile, if my panties didn't drop within the next five minutes, I'd want an annulment.

"Ah," he said. "You mean romance?"

"Well, that too, but I was talking about foreplay."

"Foreplay?"

"We've already had months of it." I unlocked my door and pushed it open.

"You think so?" He rested his hands on my hips and leaned into me, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. "Because as far as I'm concerned, that requires nudity."

When I reclaimed the ability to speak, my voice wasn't much louder than a whisper. "Please don't tease me."

"Oh, I won't. But as much as want to throw you down and bury myself in you, I have every intention of savoring the moment."

The next thing I knew, my feet no longer touched the ground. With my body pulled tightly against his, he swung me around. When he placed me back on my feet, we were in my apartment, finally alone.

For a while, I just stood there staring at him. This man—this golden-haired god—was my husband. I doubted I'd ever see anything sexier than Cullen in a tuxedo, his left hand adorned with a wedding band I put there.

Then that cocky son of a bitch proved me wrong. He tugged on his bowtie, untying it and pulling it from his collar simultaneously in a single, fluid motion.

"Turn around," he said.

For once, I didn't argue with him.

He lifted my hair from my neck and pressed his mouth against the nape of my neck while slowing unzipping my dress. It slid down my body, forming a pile of white lace and tulle at my feet.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." He undid the clasp of my strapless bra, letting it fall to the floor. Still standing behind me, he cupped my breast. As one hand played with my nipple, the other one made its way into my panties.

Oh my god.

I didn't have to tell him what to do or how to touch me—somehow, he just knew. Just when I started to doubt my ability to stand, he led me to the bedroom. Perched on the edge of my bed, I slipped off my panties as he stripped out of his tuxedo.

This was my husband—technically, I could be as brazen as I wanted without fear of being labeled a bad girl.

So I was. I leaned onto the bed and opened my legs. Just when I started to second-guess myself, he covered my body with his. His skin felt hot and smooth against mine and the way he kissed me made it difficult to breathe.

Holding me tightly, he rolled onto his back so I was on top of him with his hips between my thighs. He reached between us and grasped his cock, positioning it in such a way that all I had to do was move my hips and he'd be inside me.

The problem was that I was frozen in place. It didn't matter how much I wanted this, how much I wanted him, or even that we were bound to one another for eternity. There was something I needed to say first.

"I love you, Carlisle."

Ultimately, we met in the middle. Just as I started to lower my hips, he raised his. The feeling of him pressing inside me was beyond description, but not because he was gorgeous and had a big dick, though he was and he did. It was because his love for me was evident in his every movement—from the way he let me set the pace, to the way he stroked me as I rode him. When I came, it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—mostly because it was him who brought me there.

In the morning, I'd give him a hard time for making up this trust fund bullshit. If our marriage had a chance of lasting, he needed to learn joking about money wasn't cool. But for now, I was happy to fall asleep in his arms.

* * *

**Next birthday present to my readers is tomorrow. **


End file.
